


Queasy

by orphan_account



Series: Reunion [5]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Seasickness, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a former boat, King Daphnes Nohansen Hyrule expected to be impervious to the whims of the waves.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, he expected wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queasy

**Author's Note:**

> To my anonymous commissioner, who is ever-patient with me.

It’s a clear day. The sky is blue, filled with puffy white clouds and the promise of nice weather for the upcoming week. A cool breeze ensures it’s not too hot, and the warm rays of the sun make up for any chill that might otherwise be there. Songbirds are chirping, and seagulls are diving in and out of the waves in search of their next meal.

In fact, it’s the perfect day for fishing, Daphnes has to agree, as Link tugs him by the hand towards one of the small boats tethered to the dock. The boy’s excitement is infectious, and he finds himself smiling along as they pack their things into the small craft. It’s not much—they only intend to fish long enough to whittle away the afternoon a bit—so it doesn’t take long before they push away from Outset Island. Their chosen vessel is a rowboat, which means no nostalgic sails for them, but the King doesn’t much mind taking the oars and rowing them out to sea. He still has plenty of strength left in him. Plus he suspects (but would never voice out loud) that Link’s arms would be too short to reach both oars at once.

For his part, Link seems content to sit and ride along.

It _should_ be a relaxing day—a good day of the same bonding and familiarity he’s become so accustomed to with Link. He finds his paternal feelings for the boy growing with each passing day, and every day spent with him feels like an honest to goodness blessing. 

So everything _should_ , by all rights, be perfect.

Except when they finally reach their fishing spot, with Outset left behind as just a tiny outline in the distance, the King begins to feel…strange.

Kind of…nauseous? Uneasy. Unpleasant. A little queasy? But he can’t fathom where it might be coming from.

He’s not squeamish in the least, he thinks to himself as he helps Link bait his rod, so that can’t possibly be it. He’s never been one to shy away from minor gross things like that. He has no fear of the ocean (obviously), no discomfort at the size of their craft (obviously), no problems with seasickness—

He pushes the thought aside for now, hoping the vaguely unsettled feeling fluttering somewhere in his chest and stomach will calm down and abate by itself. There’s no use worrying himself over something he clearly has no control over. Besides, he has more important things to focus on right now, like the fact that Link has already caught something (a small fish he’d simply thrown back) while he was wrapped up in his thoughts. The King hasn’t even baited his _own_ rod yet, so inwardly focused was he.

And so it begins.

They finally start catching respectably-sized fish, and it soon turns into a competition of sorts. It’s all in good sport, but they keep track of the size of each fish before gently returning it to the water. Daphnes has to laugh when Link catches a boot—a _boot! It’s such a cliché!_ —but Link is less enthused as he carefully sets it aside to be thrown away later.

The strange feeling is easily ignored for a while. It’s easy when he has something to focus on like this. And he will _not_ allow some strange mood to come over him and ruin his perfectly good day out with Link. Whatever it is, it will surely go away on its own eventually, right?

But it doesn’t, and he soon finds his mind wandering again, more and more concerned over the fact that this nagging feeling _isn’t_ going away. And then, without even his knowledge or consent, his breathing changes pace, and he’s trying—not to vomit? As soon as he realizes _that_ , he becomes much more focused on deep breathing than fishing. The nausea has spiked, and he wonders if he’s coming down with something again. He hopes not. He doesn’t want to put anyone—especially Link—through that for a second time. But _what_ is the meaning of this? _Why_ does he suddenly feel so awful with no warning?

Then the boat rocks, his heart jumps into his throat, and he knows. He’s _seasick_. And on that note, he only has one thought _: this is utterly ridiculous._

It’s more than ridiculous, really—it’s insulting. He’d spent the better part of his travels _as_ a boat, mind you. A boat, whether currently a boat or not, should not get seasick. He’s sure there must be some universal rule somewhere forbidding it.

And yet, as another tiny wave bounces them and his breath catches in his throat, he has to admit to himself that there really aren’t any other options or explanations. He’s seasick. He feels like he’s living out the punch-line to some bad joke.

It takes Link a little while to realize something is wrong, focused as he is on his own next catch. But when he sees the King, rod in hand but un-baited, breathing hard with his eyes closed, he immediately abandons his own activity. He quickly climbs over to his side to take his hand, giving him a quizzical look and a little squeeze when he opens his eyes.

“Ah—” he knows he’s been caught. This is more humiliating than he could have imagined. But there’s no avoiding it now, so he may as well just come out and say it, “—I’m not…feeling very well, I’m afraid. Or well at all, I must admit. I think it may have to do with the motion of the waves. I ca—” and then, with almost no warning at all, he’s practically _diving_ to the edge of the boat, rapidly losing the little he’d eaten for breakfast that morning.

That wasn’t dignified at all, but there’s no coming back from it, either.

“I’m sorry, Link, I know you wanted this to be a—” and there it is _again,_ equally unpleasant and doubly embarrassing as he feels two small hands rubbing up and down his back. Link is trying to help, and while the gesture is nice, he’s ashamed to be worrying the boy at all.

Link clings to his arm again as he returns to his seat, offering a half-hug and a reminder that he is there. It should be awkward to be taken care of by a child, but Link has always been older than his years. The King feels no shame in this, only regret that his body had betrayed both of them and brought their trip to the screeching halt it now sits at. Link flits his eyes back towards the island in a question, and the King nods. It’s probably best they return now. They’ll have to come up with other, non-seafaring activities to pursue on future days of fun.

Link grabs one of the oars before he can stop him, then reaches out to try and capture the other one. But, try as he might, the frustrated look on his face isn’t going to help him stretch out the next six or seven inches he needs in order to touch them both at once. He frowns, looking defeated, and returns to his seat in the back of the boat at once.

Despite his situation, the King laughs a little. “Thank you for trying,” he offers, a hand gently coming to rest on Link’s head for and ruffle his hair before he takes up the oars again.

Still, that doesn’t necessarily make rowing back to the island any easier on him or his stomach. The faster he rows, the more they bounce—the nausea, coming in waves not unlike those of the sea beneath. He has to stop more than once to be sick, which is a miserable experience all on its own because all that occurs is awful dry-heaves he wishes to never have to experience in his life again.

But they _do_ eventually reach shore, mercifully. Link scurries up onto the dock and ties the boat back up, offering a hand down to his _former_ boat (while certainly knowing his size is not enough to give any real assistance to the King’s much larger frame). Daphnes accepts it anyway, relishing the warmth in his hand and the knowledge that he’ll be feeling _much_ better once his feet finally hit a solid surface.

Except he isn’t.

The world still feels like it’s tilting back and forth on its axis, leaving a most unpleasant woozy feeling in his head. And the nausea is still there, trying to climb its way back up his throat again. Something must show on his face, because Link urges him to sit, legs dangling off the side of the dock _not_ filled with boats, and runs off towards the house as fast as his legs can carry him (which is remarkably fast).

Regardless of his speed, the King has thrown up twice by the time he returns. This is truly an exhausting affair, and it’s irritating that the simple act of being back on land again isn’t enough to return his body to its natural state.

He turns his attention fully to Link, who is carrying…something, in his hands. That something turns out to be a steaming cup of some kind of tea, heavily herbal in fragrance. He must have gotten his grandmother to help.

He holds the cup out, and the King takes it, warily staring down into the depths of the mug. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the remedy, he’s just not sure what good it will do if it doesn’t end up staying down. Or what it will taste like coming back up. He tries to shake the disgusting imagery out of his mind. That’s the very _last_ thing he ought to be imagining at the moment. He tries very hard to think of something else, like the clouds above, or the gentle breeze causing the waves to lap against the—

Maybe he shouldn’t think of that, either. 

The King can tell Link is waiting. He’s trying not to look directly at him, but the expectation is certainly there. He very much wants the King to try whatever is in the mug—almost as much as the King is certain he does _not_ want to try it.

He can’t put this off, he knows. It would be rude to dismiss it without even giving it a chance. The worst that can happen is he’ll be sick again, the remedy will be nixed, and Link will get that little disappointed look he gets whenever he fails in his attempt to do something. The King almost _has_ to pray it works, just so he won’t have to see that face. So he slowly takes a sip—very aware of the look of anticipation coming from somewhere on his right—trying not to grimace at what he’s sure will be an awfully bitter taste judging by the smell…

But then it’s sweet instead. 

He almost spits it out in surprise, but doesn’t because that would send entirely the wrong message. It _does_ come as a shock, though, even as he takes another sip. Given the smell and greenish tint to the liquid, he had expected something more along the lines of boiled spinach, not…whatever this is. Maybe honey? Something sweeter than sugar… He can see Link trying hard not to laugh at him out of the corner of his eye, and gives the boy a playful swat. 

Then he realizes, in a moment of shock, that he no longer feels the urge to be violently ill. Despite his own jerky motions, he hasn’t upset his stomach again—a completely astounding discovery given his past hour-or-so of complete misery. He looks at the tea, then back to Link to ask, “What kind of magic…?”

Link just shrugs and gestures back towards the house.

The King knows better than to question Grandma’s remedies from now on. He drinks the rest of the mug without question or complaint. 

And it’s all smooth sailing from there.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me, scream and shout at me at smolhero on tumblr! (Or you could commission me, too!)


End file.
